Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/50

16

Last Poverty, of whom I vouch,

No penny lay within her pouch,

And buy a rope to hang herself.

Naked as any wretched worm,

She oft, in direful winter’s term,

Nigh dies with misery and cold.

Nought else her body did enfold

Except a sack, from whence hung torn

Foul rags, for robe and mantle worn;

Therewith alone did she dissemble

Her nakedness, her limbs a-tremble,

Down in a corner, on the ground

Couched, like a beaten, shamefaced hound.

Alas! a dolorous fate hath she,

Cast out from all men’s company.

Accursed the hour when man is born

To live in poverty forlorn:

Far better had he never been

Than naked, houseless, friendless seen.

Before these images I stayed

Some space; each one was well arrayed

In dazzling gold and azure bright.

By skilful limner deftly dight.

The wall was high, and built of hard

Rough stone, close shut, and strongly barred,

Enclosing round a garden vast.

Wherein no swain had ever passed;

Beyond all doubt a place most fair.

And I most gladly entry there